


The Fire Still Burns

by drabbleandfluff



Category: Bleach
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:25:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drabbleandfluff/pseuds/drabbleandfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war with Aizen may be over, but Renji still has his own personal battles to deal with, and decides to share them with his taicho.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fire Still Burns

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I had another idea for a reunion fic… but. This came out instead. I'm still gonna try to write the other one too-- that one had nice, tender sexing as the idea for the fic. This one... Not so much.
> 
> Originally written December 2010.

Renji can't remember how long it's been since he's last seen his captain.

Days. Months. _Years._

The dead winds of Las Noches hadn't revealed time to him; to any of them. His existence there measured only by a constant burn across his chapped lips. He's got sand in crevasses he doesn't want to think about. Thinks he still feels.

His innards are also somewhat tender, having recently been _force_ crushed together and twisted. His bones shudder in protest as their recent mending groans under the weight of Renji's less than merciful self pampering. He should be in bed, resting. He should be asleep, recuperating. But he is here, in Byakuya's room. Waiting for the noble to return; his agitation growing with each delayed minute.

  
  
Materializing out of _shunpo_ on a whisper of wind, the Sixth's captain is aware he is not alone. Sharp edges of heavy reiatsu churn and roil on the other side of these shoji doors.

Without pretense, he slides back the doors to his chambers and walks in.

  
  
"Taicho," turning to face the entryway his captain has just walked through, Renji's voice is tight, if not a bit _critical_ , "-- shouldn't you be at the Fourth?"

 

It is sometimes aggravating, Byakuya surmises, that at the end of a battle, his lieutenant has want to continue it in a different venue.

Defeat on the battlefield makes his fukutaicho turn inward on himself, regardless of whether Renji would have been able to stand victorious, or not. Internalization of frustration, aggravation, dissatisfaction.

But Kuchiki taicho has seen this before.

They've done this before.

"Abarai fukutaicho," his captain replies coolly; voice of censure, "You overstep your boundaries."

 

Byakuya can sense that his lieutenant can barely stand, that his reiatsu is sharply edged and his breathing is slightly shallow. Something is unsettling his subordinate; that he finds it necessary to be here in lieu of his physical state.

Kuchiki taicho is tired, too. His arm tingles with phantom aches from newly regenerated muscle and tissue and skin; beneath his uniform, ruptured cells and dead blood have mottled the porcelain skin purple and yellow and green.

The captain takes in the sight of the usual assortment of scrapes and bruises on Renji's angular face, and tonight, he can't deny that it gives him pause. Renji's irises are red, so painfully burning red, that Byakuya can feel it strip him down, feel the heat wash over him in waves. There is something in that crimson gaze. Something like guilt.

  
  
With a low growl, Renji moves quickly-- approaches his captain, grabs Kuchiki taicho by the upper arms to make his point clear-- and instead is stunned to witness a flash of pain flicker across the noble's grey eyes. Somehow it only makes Renji despair a little bit more.

How bad had his captain been hurt to let _this_ register pain?

It's not lost on Renji either, that this time, _he_ is the one inflicting it. Perverse satisfaction in proving he is correct-- Byakuya is more injured than he is letting on.

"I shouldn't have to worry about you, Taicho."

Byakuya hears everything in what Renji doesn't say.

_How can I protect your back if I can't even stand in your shadow?_

"Become stronger, so that you do not have to."

The words sting. But beneath, the sentiment is there.

 

_I will stand and wait for the day you surpass me._

  
  
Byakuya raises his hand to stroke the strong, if not slightly swollen jaw on Renji's face. Silver-grey eyes somber and unflinching. His thumb rubs over a purpling bruise; disarmingly gentle in touch. His hand opens and a warm palm wraps around Renji's muscled neck, giving it a squeeze of reassurance.

The tattooed brow creases in anger, in frustration… in defeat. A soft growl of indignation rumbles up from Renji's chest, only to exit his throat as an anguished noise. The redhead goes limp, his forehead dropping onto his captain's shoulder.

Calloused war-beaten hands clench and unclench upon captive biceps. Underneath the smooth fabric, Renji feels heat rising off one arm; now cognizant of the fact that it is the injured one.

Raising his head, he glares into Byakuya's eyes. Holds him in place; as he pulls open the black fabric, releasing the ties that bind his captain's uniform.

Pushing the black and white fabric off in one motion, Renji gets a close look at the red raw skin that is to be Kuchiki taicho's new arm. He can't decide if it's vulgar to see his captain in such a state, or if he should be down on his knees in relief that the man has an arm at all. He remembers seeing just sinew and bone; rivulets of noble blood dripping off tapered fingers to soak the white sand below.

"I was watching you…" Renji's voice is rough, harsh with accusation, "when that Espada had your arm between his teeth. I saw that look in your eyes-- " he looks at Byakuya in disbelief, incredulously, "you were gonna cut your own arm off… just so he wouldn't have a hold on you."

Kuchiki taicho stares back at his subordinate, eyes flat. His silence on the matter confirming Renji's claim.

"He was not worthy enough to taste noble flesh."

  
With a deep cry of impotent rage, Renji lets go of Byakuya's arms and starts to throw his fist into the wood next to his captain's head. He wants to hurt something, _someone_ … because he feels like he's just fucked up… been fucked over… been fucking left behind… fuck. _Just fuck_.

Where in this war had the Sixth Division been? They hadn't fought as a unit… hell, he hadn't even _seen_ his captain until he woke under the protective shield of Kotetsu's healing kido.

Awoke to witness _someone else_ fighting by Byakuya's side, saw someone else shield his back, protect him, guard him… _fuck!_

The place _he_ should have been. Renji can't seem to forgive himself the failure of not being at his captain's side.

_And now… that arm…  
  
_

The skin over his knuckles split and start to stain the Kuchiki wall with blood.

After a few more punches, Byakuya realizes that his fukutaicho has still a little too much aggression, a little too much self worth issues to deal with tonight, and he puts his palm up to stop the next punch from landing.

He is strong enough to stop Renji's momentum, catching the redhead's fist without having his own hand smashed into the wood behind it.

And if that doesn't piss Renji the fuck off even more.

"Fukutaicho…" Byakuya chides, taking a step forward.

Without thinking, Renji's other hand flattens over Byakuya's chest and pushes him back-- hard against the wall. Byakuya sets his jaw against the electrical shock that screams up his arm.

"Tell me," Renji spits, full of resentment, "that I am beneath you. That I can't touch you. I can't protect you--" His eyes flash dangerous and full of self loathing, "… _that I am a dog that does not know his place!"_

A slight sneer pulls at the corner of thin lips; Kuchiki taicho obliges the unspoken invitation.

_They have done this before._

  
He hits fast, hard. Two to the body, one to the jaw; throwing Renji backwards into the room. The redhead staggers, then quickly regains his balance. Lunging forward, Renji makes an attempt to tackle his captain, but Byakuya can anticipate his lieutenant's moves-- the redhead hampered by previous injury. He quickly grabs two fistfuls of shihakusho, turns, and trips Renji backwards over his leg.   
  
Kuchiki taicho pins Renji beneath him.

Slightly out of breath, Byakuya leans down so that he is mere inches away from his subordinate; so that the redhead can feel each heated puff of breath from his mouth… _so that there are no misunderstandings._

"I have never asked for your _protection,_ Fukutaicho," Byakuya finally answers. His arm is _on fire_ , he can feel the recently restored muscles shaking under the strain of a strenuous workout _a little too soon_ ; as the other bruises upon his body, too, cry out for recognition.

Renji is glaring up at him, eyes burning, chest heaving. His tongue comes out to lick at the blood bleeding from his newly split lip; mercury eyes watch carefully each nuance of pink tongue. Renji shifts beneath him, and Byakuya feels that his fukutaicho is hard. Rock hard.

The energy in the room shifts suddenly, transitions from heavy reproach to a _crackling hunger_ , and Byakuya can't decide what that says about his lieutenant, or himself for that matter, when his own hips answer in a slow roll and he realizes that he too, is hard and ready.

Byakuya leans down and sucks that split lip into his mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood, the sweat-salt of Abarai Renji. He pulls hard on the soft flesh, earning a pained grunt from the man beneath.

"Understand, Abarai?" Byakuya tilts back, his captain's gaze boring down into his second in command, "your duty to the Gotei is as a soldier. Not my personal bodyguard." He drags his hips down to pivot against Renji, the guilt-heated crimson glare blurring, combusting into a different type of internal burn.

"Fuck… _Taicho_ …" Renji's voice is small. Almost a defeated whine.

"Renji…" Byakuya admonishes, steely words break through Renji's haze of mental and physical exhaustive pain, "do not insult us both."

The weight of the words are heavy.

Their gazes lock, and a dawning understanding builds in Renji's eyes. He nods once; the anger and self-loathing having been bled out of him.

  
Renji's hand finds his captain's thigh and runs upward; the first real touch he's given Byakuya since… _when, again?_ His own body is betraying him, however. It begins to tremble and shake with the let down of adrenaline, his beaten then somewhat mended body protesting his otherwise aggressive thoughts… _wants._

"Taicho… _fuck_ …" a groan of need, this time, as Renji holds his captain's hips steady and jerks up to him in a quick, pleading motion. He makes an enticing sound of encouragement from the back of his throat, hoping to lure the noble back down to him.

Byakuya takes the bait and lowers his head to the erratic pulse at Renji's neck. He doesn't bite or suck-- Byakuya simply breathes… _in_ \-- to lose himself in the ether of Renji… _out_ \-- blowing heated air along taut skin.

He tongues at the shadow on Renji's neck, where sweat has pooled from their _encounter,_ and he pulls _with teeth_ to get the black fabric off his fukutaicho's chest… only to find the bandages underneath; practically covering Renji's entire torso.

Byakuya pauses at his fukutaicho's wounds. He looks up into ironically defensive amber irises, wondering how this… _jackass_ can berate _him_ , when he himself is just as battered.

 

"Renji…"

A smirk. A knowing smirk.

Byakuya wants to strangle his fukutaicho.

The Kuchiki prides himself on being able to control his emotions… especially when those around him lose it. But. The sheer myriad of emotional extremes his second in command throws at him in a handful of minutes is… mind boggling. Something akin to mental training.

He wants to… _take him apart._

  
With his hands

… and his mouth.

Wants the redhead beneath him writhing and begging… wants Renji to come with his name on his lips, gripping him hard… never letting go. Wants his crimson eyes blown wide with pleasure so that the only thing Renji sees… smells… understands… is him.

Byakuya's breathing is a bit labored; he realizes that neither of them are up to anything more strenuous tonight after their previous foray. The choppy edges of their reiatsu tell him that either of them is liable to pass out from sheer exhaustion in two minutes-- if they're lucky.

With pure economy, Byakuya pulls at the ties of Renji's hakama while slipping his other hand in through the side slits to fist the tight erection; stroking swift and hard. He bestows a sultry last look at Renji before his head is lowering… and his mouth is already sucking on the blunt head when he feels Renji's groan, the vibration moving onto his tongue. Slick and wet, Byakuya lavishes the silky skin, wrapping his tongue around the heated length; _pulling, sucking_.

As if to reprimand Renji for tonight's earlier transgressions, Byakuya lets his teeth drag ever so threateningly over sensitive skin, but Renji just moans and bucks under him; savoring, _begging_ for the pain along with everything else.

And it's good, impossibly good.

In a handful of seconds, Byakuya feels Renji getting harder, needing more… and _pulse_ ; he pushes down, _takes him in deeper_ , and feels the hot come hit the back of his mouth; slide down his throat. He continues to suck, suckle… until Renji softens and whimpers, until he feels the tug to his hair that tells him he needs to let go.

He crawls up, removing what he needs to feel skin against skin. Byakuya finds the hollow of Renji's hip, his cock flushed and aching… and _grinds._

And it's enough, more than enough. Byakuya braces himself and thrusts; slick sweat soaked skin, with just enough drag to make him _feel it_. Renji pulls him in tighter, urges him faster. Byakuya buries his face in Renji's neck; licking sucking _biting_ hard at the pulse point to leave red marks along tan-and-black skin.

"Yeah… fuck yeah," Renji is murmuring, gasping… voice rough, encouraging. "C'mon Taicho… come on. _Come_ …"

And then Renji isn't saying anything more, but making delicious, rich, needy sounds that _push_ Byakuya. Hands thread into his inky hair, pulling his head back, grasping and tugging… Renji's tongue is in his mouth-- greedy and wet and sloppy and… Fingers.  Fingers dig into his thighs, squeeze and stroke the muscles of his ass. They find their way between and rub _there_.

Byakuya comes, gasping… groaning into Renji's mouth. A full body shudder that wrenches him, wrings him clean through.

Falling to the side, as not to further crush his already crushed fukutaicho, Byakuya tries to remember how to breathe. Panting hard; he can't feel his arm anymore, nor the bruising on his chest or back. His entire body is numb.  
  
They are officers of the Gotei.  Leaders of the Sixth Division.  Byakuya thinks they should at least make an attempt to get to a bed, yet knows they won't be moving.

"Tomorrow, Renji…" his voice is barely audible, "we will discuss your _ideas_ about foreplay."

He is sinking into oblivion and hears a warm tired breath, sees in his mind, the wide smirking mouth, feels a lazy hand rub at his abdomen, "Yeah? ... well-- welcome home, Byakuya."


End file.
